


If You Give a Cat a...

by pinkadot



Category: Sekai-ichi Hatsukoi
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, M/M, Mutual Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-20
Updated: 2011-10-20
Packaged: 2017-10-24 19:29:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/267030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkadot/pseuds/pinkadot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yokozawa does a lot of musing on how he feels about his faithful feline friend becoming human. Sorata wants to convey his feelings to Yokozawa and discovers that persistence eventually pays off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Give a Cat a...

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sorata is unexpectedly human](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/5002) by nekopink. 



They ate dinner mostly in silence, the only noise in the room coming from the soft clicking of chopsticks against a dish and the quiet hum of the refrigerator. But even the quiet was somehow disconcerting.

“You look really tired today.” Sorata frowned, head inclined as he regarded the man sitting across the table from him.

Yokozawa’s only response was a grunt of acknowledgment, focusing on his food rather than his companion. It was true he was tired. It had been a very long, very tiring day at Marukawa. There had apparently been a run on attitude because everyone had plenty to spare for him today. His boss had fought him tooth and nail about the number of copies that should be printed for the upcoming month’s issue, and the stress was starting to wear him down.

“You should go to bed right after dinner. Want me to come lie next to you?” The smile Sorata gave him was all sweetness and genuine eagerness to please.

 _This_ was wearing him down too. Yokozawa wasn’t sure how exactly he had come to have this guy living with him when before he only had a very faithful cat, but it had been _two full days_ now, and he was pretty sure that meant he could no longer write it off as a hallucination brought on by sleep deprivation. But that would mean he had a cat-turned-human in his apartment with him, wearing his clothes, eating dinner with him, asking him all sorts of ridiculous questions, and curling up on the couch with him (despite repeated attempts to push him away). And that was just crazy.

“Yokozawa?” Sorata had set down his chopsticks and was simply watching him with an expression of concern written on his features.

Eventually, Yokozawa looked up, for a brief moment wondering why that incredibly expressive face actually made him feel _guilty_ for wishing Sorata would just return to his original form already. But he covered this with a frown and cleared his throat. “I’m fine. I still have some work to do tonight, so I can’t just go to bed.”

Sorata frowned a little, steady gaze still trained on Yokozawa. “Can I help you with it?”

“You wouldn’t even know how.” He pushed away from the table, done with his meal, and gathered their dishes to take to the sink.

Immediately Sorata jumped up to follow him, as always, right on his heels. “Is there something else I can do then?”

The dishes clattered loudly as they hit the sink, making the both of them wince. Yokozawa sighed heavily, bracing his hands against the edge of the metal. “You can wash these dishes.”

The look of excitement on Sorata’s face at being able to help was enough to soften his features somewhat and he reached out, ruffling that unruly black hair as had become habit over the past two days. Sorata seemed to enjoy this affection and leaned in toward his hand. The move was so cat-like Yokozawa wondered how he ever doubted _this_ Sorata was the same as his feline friend.

Now that he had bought himself at least five minutes of free time, he figured he would sneak off for a relaxing bath to help melt away the day’s stress. He closed the bathroom door behind him, blocking out the sound of Sorata in the kitchen, and turned on the tap, letting the water run almost hotter than he could stand. There was nothing he would’ve liked to do more than to take his bath, dry his hair, and fall into bed, but his sense of pride in his work wouldn’t let him sleep before he had pored over all the numbers for last month’s tankoubon sales in Osaka in preparation for a meeting he had to go to the next week. But if Sorata would let him get even half of it done, he would consider it a small miracle.

He wasn’t sure how other people dealt with having roommates, but if they were all this annoying, he was glad he had never had one. He was perfectly happy coming home to a quiet apartment with no one to interrupt him with never-ending questions or offers of help while he was trying to work or read or watch television. Sorata had never been a particularly needy or affectionate cat, choosing instead to keep to himself most of the time. He usually only came around looking for attention when he was hungry or when Yokozawa seemed to need him, whether to soothe him after a bad day or to force him to take a break when he had been staring at data for so long his eyes were starting to cross. This overly needy human Sorata had a personality that was at odds with his previous form despite his repeated attempts to explain this discrepancy.

_”But you’ve always done so much for me,” he had said, “Now that I have this body and this voice, I want to make sure you know how much I appreciate it. I always have.”_

Yokozawa sighed heavily, rubbing his face in an effort to strike the thought from his mind, and sunk deeper into the water. It wasn’t right that he kept thinking about the one guy he was trying to escape, even if Sorata _was_ annoyingly endearing sometimes. He wanted to simply close his eyes and relax and not think about anything at all; not work or Masamune or his grocery list or Sorata or his upcoming trip to Osaka—nothing. It wasn’t like he couldn’t see Sorata when he got out of the bath; the guy would be there whether he liked it or not, so there was no sense in thinking about him when he had finally gotten away from him.

By the time he finally dragged himself out of the bathtub (which he told himself was only because he still had work to do and not because the water was getting too cold for his liking), he was feeling remarkably better and more relaxed, mind clearer and body lighter. He threw on a long-sleeved T-shirt and some old flannel pants and draped a towel around his neck before emerging from the bathroom to find…a surprisingly quiet apartment. The light in the living room was still on, but the television was off and there were no sounds of human life coming from there or the bedroom.

Though he was hesitant to do so, he called out, “Sorata?” No response. It wasn’t like him to be so quiet—especially at night. Sorata was still a fairly nocturnal creature and always had energy to spare even when Yokozawa himself was dragging his feet and he could barely keep his eyes open. Maybe he had finally turned back into a cat. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, especially since Sorata seemed so excited about being human, but wasn’t that only supposed to last twenty-four hours? It had already been two days!

Just then, he heard the sound of the front door opening, and in walked the object of his thoughts. Yokozawa definitely did _not_ like the double-beat his heart did when he saw that Sorata was clearly still human.

“Where did you go?”

Sorata looked up from removing his shoes, seemingly surprised to see Yokozawa standing in the hallway. “Oh, we were out of milk, so I went to the conbini to get some more.” He smiled warmly and held up the plastic bag containing his purchase as he made his way toward the kitchen.

“You can’t go leaving the door unlocked when you leave,” Yokozawa lectured. It wasn’t that he was afraid someone would break in, or even that he was upset that Sorata had left without saying anything. He just didn’t want Sorata to know that a part of him was actually _happy_ to see him walk in the door rather than finding that he had reverted to his feline form. The thought was almost laughable.

Sorata pouted, head dipping slightly in apology. “Sorry. I didn’t know where the spare key was, but I didn’t expect to be gone very long.”

Yokozawa simply headed back into the living room and grabbed his work bag, bringing it with him over to the couch and settling in for what he knew would be a long night. He could hear Sorata getting himself a glass of milk and he knew it would only be a matter of time before he had the television on and was laughing along to whatever variety program was on at this hour.

“Are you really going to do work all night?” Sorata flopped down next to him on the couch, careful not to spill his milk, and watched him curiously.

That stare was almost as unnerving in this form as it was when he had been a cat. Both were piercing and full of questions and some kind of underlying affection. “Yes,” he answered curtly. “I have to go to Osaka next week and I need to get this done before then.”

The sigh Sorata gave was heavy and told Yokozawa exactly how he felt about this even before he opened his mouth. “But it’s Friday! Can’t you put it off until Sunday or something? You’re always working.” He slouched down on the couch, dropping his head against the back of it.

“I have a lot of work.” Yokozawa didn’t even bother looking over at him, simply pulling out a stack of sales reports and two highlighters, marking off the highest sales numbers and the lowest.

At length, Sorata spoke up again, voice softer. “You have to go to Osaka next week?”

“Yes.”

“Is that far away?”

“It’s about three hours by shinkansen.”

“Will you be gone a long time?” He started picking at a loose thread at the seam of a cushion, voice taking on a peculiar tone that told Yokozawa he must be upset.

“Just overnight. I’ll be back the next day.”

“Are you going to leave me with Masamune again?”

Yokozawa sighed and set down his highlighter, finally turning to face Sorata. “I’m pretty sure you’re capable of taking care of yourself for thirty-six hours. Now are you done playing 20 Questions with me? I can’t focus on these reports if you insist on interrupting me every ten seconds.”

Sorata at least had the courtesy to look a bit dejected and turned to face forward as he sulked into his glass of milk, muttering. “Sorry I asked.”

This was exactly what Yokozawa had expected to happen, as it had become par for the course every night since he had walked into his apartment and found a very human Sorata sitting on his couch. Had he been a more talkative person, he would’ve appreciated the conversation partner, but as it was, he often struggled to find things to talk about with Sorata. What exactly should one talk about with someone who had spent the past ten years in the body of a cat? Did Sorata have hobbies? Interests other than eating, sleeping, and toy mice? He had spent most of his life confined within the walls of Yokozawa’s apartment, so there were a lot of things he didn’t know about the world. They just weren’t compatible at all.

It was easy enough to let Sorata stew, because he knew it wouldn’t be long before the guy was interrupting him with more inane questions. He turned back to his reports, and after a few minutes of silence, heard the soft click of the TV coming to life. It tended to provide a good distraction and usually bought him at least half an hour of relative peace, during which he could get some actual work done. He could block out the sounds of whatever program was showing, but Sorata’s laughter and sometimes nonsensical comments were much harder to tune out.

The fact that he hadn’t heard either some fifteen minutes later was enough to give him pause. When he glanced over at Sorata, he found him staring blankly at the television, arms crossed in front him, and a frown on his lips. Still sulking. Really, the last thing Yokozawa wanted was to deal with Sorata when he was in a bad mood, but he also knew he was mostly responsible for it. And since he wasn’t exactly the apologizing kind, that meant he had to find some other way to turn Sorata’s mood around.

After mulling over his options for a minute, he capped his highlighters and set them and his reports down. “Do you want to watch a movie?”

It took Sorata a full thirty seconds to finally look his way and respond. “Eh?”

“A movie. Do you want to watch a movie?”

He seemed to think about this for a minute. “Will you watch it with me?”

“That was the idea.”

Sorata’s excitement over Yokozawa actually showing an interest in doing something with him was evident, and he nodded, smiling. “Okay. Can we watch that one where the guy in the sunglasses fights the other guy in slow motion and stuff?”

Yokozawa’s brows furrowed as he tried to recall what in his movie collection might fit that description. “The Matrix?”

“Yeah, I think that’s it!”

“Sure.” It wasn’t his favorite movie, but he hadn’t seen it in a while and he didn’t mind sitting through it again.

With the disc in the player, he reclaimed his seat on the couch, only to have Sorata scoot closer to him, his arms curled around one of the throw pillows. Yokozawa glanced sidelong at him. They weren’t watching a chick flick, and Sorata was most definitely _not_ a girl, so he found it odd that he’d want to be closer to him. But then he remembered all the times he had sat on his couch watching movies and Sorata the cat had curled up with him, usually sleeping by his side or curled up on his lap in exchange for some leisurely petting and a scratch behind the ears. Okay, maybe it made a _little_ more sense now why he wanted to be close to him, so he decided not to question it. It wasn’t like Sorata was doing anything inappropriate, so they settled in for a few hours of mindless entertainment.

* * *

Two hours later found Yokozawa once again highlighting his reports, a sleeping Sorata lying with his head on his lap while the movie credits rolled in the background. Yokozawa had offered several times to turn the movie off if Sorata wanted to sleep, as he had glanced over more than a few times to see Sorata’s head loll to one side as he’d drift off for a few seconds. But Sorata had staunchly refused, insisting he wasn’t going to fall asleep and that he wanted to see how the movie ended. Yokozawa found it almost cute, in a way, that he was acting like such a child about it; and just like a child, he had still fallen asleep in the end.

How he had ended up with Sorata’s head in his lap he wasn’t entirely sure, but he had been there for the past half hour and Yokozawa had neither the heart nor the energy to make him move—especially since the couch technically served as Sorata’s bed. At least he was being quiet, and for that Yokozawa was grateful. It had allowed him to get a considerable amount of work done, and he had made his way through all but the last six stores worth of the individual author sales reports. He might get to enjoy at least part of his weekend after all.

With a huge yawn, he set his finished report down, head resting against the back of the couch for a minute as he debated whether he should continue on with the next one or simply call it a night and head to bed. He rubbed at his eyes; his vision was starting to blur, which meant he should probably turn in for the night. Absently, he reached down, fingers idly running through Sorata’s soft, fine hair, the feeling different from his fur as a cat but, as Yokozawa was coming to realize, no less soothing to pet. Maybe there was something to be said for his human form after all.

In quiet moments like these, Yokozawa had to admit it was kind of nice to have another person around. And it had been a while since anyone had shown any interest in him, much less been up to his apartment. Sorata had somehow managed to do both of these things, and Yokozawa wasn’t sure if it bothered him more that the guy’s personality clashed with his own or that Sorata had so quickly become such a constant presence in his life. He didn’t _dislike_ Sorata. He was inquisitive to a fault, sure, but he was also cheerful, caring, ready and willing to help out in any way he might be useful, and had on several occasions actually drawn genuine smiles from Yokozawa. Whatever the case, he decided it was too late an hour to bear thinking about and instead contented himself with stroking Sorata’s hair.

After what couldn’t have been more than a minute or two of this, Sorata stirred, nuzzling his cheek against Yokozawa’s pant leg and immediately bringing the motions of his hand to a dead stop. It didn’t appear he had woken up, but the fact that he was reacting to the touch—even if only unconsciously, was enough to make Yokozawa’s heart beat faster. He didn’t want Sorata to _know_ what he was doing. That would only encourage him to try and get it to happen more often, and Sorata was already needy enough.

But somehow Yokozawa found his hand moving once again, this time drawing contented, half-mewling sounds from Sorata. He supposed this was as close as Sorata could get to purring in his human form, and he had to admit that it was an odd mix of amusing and downright _cute_ , even though a part of him hated that the latter word had even crossed his mind in reference to a guy like him. He shook his head, trying to banish the thought. It was late; he was sorely in need of some sleep, and the lack of it had obviously been having a strange effect on his mind. He just needed to figure out how to get Sorata off his lap and he’d slide into bed and a good night of sleep would take with it all these crazy notions.

Not a minute later, the nuzzling had started again, but this time Sorata’s eyes were open, his voice low and rough with sleep. “Feels nice.”

The sound of the softspoken words cut through the silence like a chainsaw had roared to life in the room, and Yokozawa looked down into those heavy-lidded eyes, gray and clouded with the remnants of slumber he had yet to shake off. He didn’t dare say anything; he didn’t know what _to_ say, so he simply watched Sorata, let him do as he wanted for the time being.

Sorata reached up, taking Yokozawa’s hand in his own. “I love your hands.” His voice had an almost dreamlike quality to it, as if he were still in that limbo between sleep and wakefulness, not yet fully conscious of what he was saying or doing. He held up Yokozawa’s hand, traced the contours of those long fingers and tickled his palm with the lightest of touches. “They’re so gentle and warm.”

He pressed the hand to his cheek, rubbed against it, and Yokozawa could feel the soft brush of Sorata’s lips against his palm. He swallowed hard and coaxed his hand away from its captor. “I think it’s definitely time for bed.”

When spoken to, Sorata blinked, a spark of realization lighting within his eyes, and he slowly sat up, tucking his knees beneath him. “Oh, did the movie end?” He turned toward the television, which had since been turned off, then back to his companion. “I fell asleep?”

Yokozawa nodded in response. “You missed the last half hour, at least.”

A pout. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“You kept nodding off, so I figured you needed the sleep. It’s not like you can’t watch the end again some other time.”

“I guess that’s true.” Sorata shifted, legs uncurling as he sat against the back of the couch and leaned to one side until his head was resting on Yokozawa’s shoulder. “I had a dream you were a cat and you lived in my apartment with me. But you could talk just like a person and you used to lecture me if I wasn’t petting you the right way. Ah, but when I did, you’d purr and rub up against me and it was really cute! And it made me realize how much I love your hands because it always felt really good when you’d scratch down my back like I was doing to you. You always did it just right.”

At hearing this, Yokozawa couldn’t help but smile softly in amusement. The guy said the strangest things sometimes. “You’re really weird, you know that?” He reached out, ruffling Sorata’s hair, and sat up straighter in preparation for getting up from the couch. “And I’m heading to bed now, so the couch is all yours.”

Sorata lifted his head from Yokozawa’s shoulder, watching him for a second. “Wait.” Then without any sort of preamble, he reached up, curled his fingers loosely in the soft material of Yokozawa’s shirt, and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Immediately, Yokozawa pulled back as if he had been burned. “What the hell was that for?”

“Because I like you,” Sorata explained matter-of-factly, head inclined as he seemingly struggled to understand why his action had garnered such a negative response. “Isn’t that what you do when you like someone?”

“This is _not_ that kind of like.” He put a hand to his cheek but stopped short of rubbing the sensation of the kiss away.

Hurt briefly flashed in Sorata’s eyes, but was gone again as soon as he blinked. “But I really do like you! And when you like someone, you kiss them. I know because I’ve seen Masamune do it to Onodera lots of times.”

Yokozawa frowned, brows knitted, and turned away from Sorata. He didn’t need to be reminded about how Masamune felt about Onodera; he’d seen it with his own eyes and heard their declarations with his own ears enough to get the message loud and clear. Though he had been doing his best to accept that his chances of getting back together with Masamune were well and truly over, it was still a bit of a sore spot for him.

What did Sorata know about emotions like love? After all, he was just a cat. A cat couldn’t possibly understand such complex human emotions. The very notion was ridiculous. At length, he turned back to face Sorata, voice challenging. “And do you have any idea what happens _after_ they kiss? That’s _not_ the kind of “like” you feel for me.”

Sorata scratched absently at his cheek. “Mm…well usually Masamune starts taking off their clothes, and then he starts touching Ono—“

“—Stop!” Yokozawa put a hand over his face and sighed heavily. “Just…stop.” He wasn’t about to sit here and listen to Sorata rattle off all the details about Masamune and Onodera’s bedroom habits.

“But you were the one who asked.” Sorata cocked his head to the side, not quite sure what he had done wrong.

“I know. And I wish I hadn’t.” He rubbed at his forehead, feeling tension creeping back into his body. A hand pressed against his thigh, and when Yokozawa turned his head toward its owner, he came mere centimeters from bumping noses with Sorata. It was unnerving, the way he was being stared down so intently. “It’s time for bed, Sorata. Just go to sleep and we can both forget this conversation ever happened.”

“I know you like me too, Yokozawa. I’ve known for a really long time.”

“God you’re persistent.” This guy just wasn’t going to take no for an answer, was he? “You were a _cat_ then. I liked you as a _cat_ , and that’s it.”

Hurt flashed again in Sorata’s dark eyes, but he didn’t back down. “I don’t believe that.”

Yokozawa lowered his voice from the loud, angry tone it had started to take, not wanting to disturb the neighbors at such a late hour. “You’re needy and nosy and you ask so many damn questions I can never get anything done. At least as a cat you were quiet.”

“Then why were you stroking my hair just a minute ago?” The question was accusatory, meant to ruffle Yokozawa’s feathers. “You don’t do that to someone you don’t like.”

Honestly, Yokozawa didn’t really have an answer for this, so he simply avoided the question. “Why are we even having this conversation? What the hell do you want from me?”

Sorata’s voice was steady and sure, leaving no room for doubt. “I want you to kiss me.”

Yokozawa laughed sardonically, shaking his head. “You don’t have any idea what you’re asking for.”

“I’ve been watching you for eight years; I know exactly what I’m asking for.”

The comment gave Yokozawa pause. He hadn’t considered that Sorata’s human form would have all the same knowledge and memories he had obtained from eight years of living with Yokozawa as a cat. There was probably a _lot_ Sorata knew just from watching him day after day, quietly observing and locking away all that knowledge. Even so, there was still no way he understood anything about love or human attraction, no matter how many times he may have seen Masamune kiss Onodera.

Seeing this gap in the conversation as an opportunity, Sorata continued. “I know you’re a very serious guy, but I’m serious too. I really do know almost everything about you. I know how you take your coffee in the morning. I know which side of the bed you like to sleep on. I know your favorite color and your favorite foods and which TV shows you like and which ones you can’t stand. I know how often you go on dates and all the sounds you make in the bedroom. I know what you look like when you’ve just woken up and when you’ve just had your heart broken. I’ve seen you both when you’re at your best and when you’re at your worst. And after all of that, how could I _not_ \--“

Before he could think the better of it, Yokozawa reached out, cupped Sorata’s chin, and gave him a sound kiss. If that’s all it would take to get him to just _shut up_ for a second, it seemed a small price to pay. Yokozawa didn’t have to like it. He didn’t even have to _want_ it; he just had to do it. That was all it would take to put an end to this silly arguing so they could finally get some sleep.

There was nothing at all intimate about the kiss. It lasted no more than a few seconds and wasn’t even open-mouthed, just the pressing together of dry lips. Or at least that was his intention. It seemed Sorata had a different idea, as just as soon as Yokozawa had tried to pull back, Sorata’s hands came up, fisting in his shirt and holding him close. He made an earnest, if awkward attempt to deepen the kiss, licking at Yokozawa’s lips as…well, as a cat might. It lacked any kind of finesse or subtlety, which should’ve been expected from someone who had no practical experience.

Had Yokozawa not been so caught off guard by this unexpected reaction to his kiss, he might have laughed. Instead, he coaxed Sorata away by his shoulders and grinned. “You have absolutely no talent for kissing.”

Sorata huffed in annoyance. “I can’t help it; that was my first time. I just need more practice is all.” He leaned in, lips pursed, trying again for yet another kiss.

“Now wait just a minute.” Yokozawa pressed on Sorata’s shoulders, holding him back. “I already gave you what you wanted and I have no intention of doing any more.” Seizing the opportunity, he broke away and stood from the couch, trying his best not to notice the look of disappointment on Sorata’s face.

“So that’s it?”

“That’s it.” Yokozawa turned away, headed toward the bathroom to brush his teeth.

For a while, Sorata simply watched Yokozawa go, but finally got up to follow him. “But when you like someone, and you kiss them, don’t you want to do it _more_?”

There was no way Yokozawa was going to start the same argument again, and he turned to look Sorata squarely in the eye. “Goodnight, Sorata.” With that, he closed the door behind him. He heard Sorata whine in protest, but knew the guy probably wouldn’t stay upset for long.

Once the door was closed behind him, he turned toward the sink, braced his hands against the edge of the counter, and gave himself a long, hard look in the mirror. His lips were wet, still tingling from the somewhat rough swipe of Sorata’s tongue against them. This was not how he had envisioned his night. He had neither the desire nor the patience to give Sorata kissing lessons, regardless of how long it had been since he had last felt someone’s lips against his own. The guy just wasn’t his type anyway, no matter _how_ convinced he was that Yokozawa liked him.

When he finally emerged from the bathroom, Sorata was no longer in the living room. The light was off, but he wasn’t lying in his usual spot on the couch. Yokozawa hoped he had gone for a walk to clear his head, because with all the crazy thoughts he had swirling around in there about liking someone and kissing, he obviously needed it. But as soon as Yokozawa walked into his bedroom and turned on the light, he realized with a frown that this was not the case.

Sorata was sitting at the edge of his bed, obviously waiting for him to come into the room. “I know I can do better.”

Not this again. Yokozawa sighed, arms crossed as he leaned against the door frame. “This is not your room.”

“I’m not leaving.”

Yokozawa frowned, brows furrowed as he struggled to retain some semblance of calmness given the circumstances. “You asked for a kiss, so I gave you one-- _one_ kiss. Period. End of story. Just be happy with that and go to sleep like a good little boy.”

Sorata pursed his lips and lay back on his elbows to let Yokozawa know he had absolutely no intention of going anywhere. “Did you like it?”

“Did I _like_ it?” Yokozawa repeated, incredulous. “It was awkward and unpleasant and you have got to be the world’s worst kisser. There’s no _way_ I would’ve liked it!”

“You caught me off guard!” There was determination in Sorata’s voice when he next spoke. “I can definitely do better.”

Yokozawa shook his head. “Well you won’t be practicing on _me_ , if that’s what you were thinking.”

Sorata shifted on the bed, lying on his side and watching his companion, mischief alight in his eyes. “I know you’d like it.”

It was with an almost sickening sense of dread that Yokozawa noted the challenge in his voice. He wasn’t going to get any peace tonight unless he somehow either convinced Sorata that he didn’t want what he thought he wanted, or if he threw in the towel and _gave_ Sorata what he wanted. Whatever path he chose, he was fairly sure the method of getting there would be the same. Was he opposed to the idea of kissing Sorata again? Not exactly. Yokozawa wasn’t afraid he’d somehow disappoint Sorata or that he’d feel guilty for it come morning. He was mostly afraid that it would only make the both of them want more, and that wasn’t something he wanted to contend with tonight.

While it had been a very long time since he had last had someone lying on his bed looking as inviting as Sorata did just then, it didn’t mean he had to take advantage of the situation. Rather, it meant he probably _shouldn’t_. “You shouldn’t go making assumptions about things you know nothing about.”

“I’m a fast learner. I won’t let you down.” The grin he gave Yokozawa was equal parts smug and inviting.

That grin was downright dangerous. Yokozawa sighed, raking his fingers through his hair. He didn’t want to do it this way, but it was looking like the only way out. “Okay, since you’re so sure…”

Immediately, Sorata perked up, grin blossoming into a full smile. “…Really?”

With measured steps, Yokozawa stalked over to the bed. He swallowed hard as he knelt on the mattress, looming over Sorata. “But don’t think I’m doing this out of “like”. I just hate seeing a guy your age suck so badly at something so easy.”

Sorata turned fully onto his back and blinked up at Yokozawa, eyes wide and searching, seemingly torn between anticipation and nervousness. His voice was soft but still had a defiant air about it. “’S not my fault.”

Yokozawa managed a grin, knowing it must look almost predatory in this situation, and leaned close, their noses nearly bumping, voice low. “Just shut up, close your eyes, and follow my lead.”

With that, he lowered himself onto his elbows and slanted his mouth over Sorata’s, tongue swiping over the seam of his lips to request entrance, which was soon granted with a soft gasp. He moved it slowly, dipping here and there, sliding against Sorata’s, trying to coax it into movement. Eventually it worked, and the response he got was a bit more enthusiastic than he had expected. Sorata’s tongue was everywhere—twining with Yokozawa’s, licking at his lips, forced nearly down his throat.

So far, the kiss easily ranked as one of the worst Yokozawa had ever experienced. Sorata had plenty of enthusiasm, but very little in the way of skill, which just made the whole thing sloppy and awkward and not even the least bit sexy. When he pulled back, his breath was coming a little heavy, and he decided to give Sorata a little further instruction. “Why don’t you lay off the tongue a little before you choke me? Just take it easy…nice and slow.”

Sorata gave a faint nod, and Yokozawa dipped his head again and captured Sorata’s lower lip between his teeth, sucking on it before letting it slip free. He kissed Sorata again, just simple, slow, open-mouthed kisses, purposely refraining from using his tongue in order to avoid a repeat of the last kiss. And it seemed to work. Though it still took a minute, Sorata finally started to respond in kind, a little overeager, but not nearly to the same extent as before. Perhaps he was a fast learner after all.

Yokozawa pulled back just enough to murmur against his lips. “Now you’re getting the hang of it.”

It was kind of nice, he had to admit. Once Sorata had finally gotten used to it, the kissing wasn’t nearly that bad. In fact, it almost felt _right_. As natural as if they had been doing this for years. Not disgusting or distasteful or like something he shouldn’t be doing, just…like he had just found a spark of chemistry with a new flame. But that was most definitely _not_ the case, he reminded himself. This was Sorata, and they were most certainly _not_ dating or lovers or otherwise romantically involved. He was just helping the guy learn how to become a better kisser so Sorata would finally leave him alone and they could get some sleep. That was it.

Once Sorata had learned the virtues of patience and moderation and grown more accustomed to kissing, he started getting a little bolder and lifted his arms to wind around Yokozawa’s neck, threading fingers through his hair. This kissing thing, it felt good—really good. And now that he finally had Yokozawa right where he wanted him, Sorata didn’t want to give it up. He just wanted to kiss and be kissed and to _keep_ kissing until his lips were sore and swollen and he no longer had the breath to continue.

At length, Yokozawa introduced his tongue again, letting just the tip peek from between his lips and brush quickly against Sorata’s before darting away. It was just enough to bait him into chasing the touch, and Sorata matched his rhythm almost perfectly this time. After one particularly enthusiastic sweep of Sorata’s tongue, Yokozawa caught it between his lips and sucked hard enough to wring a moan from Sorata, and he felt the fingers curl tighter in his hair, holding him close.

The very sound of that almost whimpering moan made Yokozawa release his tongue and pull away despite Sorata’s protests to the contrary. What was he doing? Sorata’s cheeks were flushed pink, his lips red and swollen, and there was a look of pure, undisguised lust in his gray eyes. He had to admit the guy cut quite a striking figure lying there on the bed, chest quickly rising and falling and fingers sliding from Yokozawa’s hair and down his neck, brushing against the pulse racing just below the surface of his skin and leaving goosebumps in his wake. Oh, this was dangerous.

Sorata’s voice was rough with desire, eyes half-lidded, and he grinned, looking entirely pleased with himself. “Mm…I really like kissing. Told you I could do better.”

Yokozawa wasn’t quite sure what to say here. If he praised Sorata, the guy would want more. If he admonished him, he’d want more practice. So he settled for a simple noncommittal, “Yeah.”

“And,” Sorata continued, impish grin on his lips, “I know _you_ liked it too.” He shifted on the bed and rocked his hips upward, bumping against the swell of Yokozawa’s half-hard cock.

Almost immediately, Yokozawa reared back and rose up onto his knees, making a sound that was half groan, half hiss. “Cut that out.”

He hadn’t realized their kissing had affected him so much, but he knew—just from that brief bump of hips—that Sorata was even harder than he was. His brows furrowed and he huffed in annoyance at his body’s reaction. He really hadn’t meant nor expected to get that carried away. It was just some stupid kissing after all. It wasn’t like he was some innocent teenager who got hard at the mere _thought_ of sex; he was a grown man, dammit!

Sorata pushed himself up onto his elbows, gaze fixed on Yokozawa’s. “I think that means you like me.” He let his gaze travel down Yokozawa’s body, finally coming to rest on the front of his pants. “Or at least your body does.”

Yokozawa’s tone was warning. “Sorata…”

“You can’t deny it, Yokozawa. I can _see_ how much you liked it.” He cocked his head to one side and gave Yokozawa a look that was both challenging and playful. “You know I liked it too, right?”

Sorata’s hand crept down his body, one finger swiping a line down over the hard ridge of his cock beneath the material of his pants, and Yokozawa had to force himself to look away. “You gonna take responsibility for this?”

“Not a chance in hell.”

Yokozawa didn’t even need to look to know what Sorata was talking about; he had felt the evidence rub against his hip. And there was _definitely_ no way he was going to admit that knowing Sorata wanted him so much was a definite turn-on. But no amount of trying to explain it away—saying it had just been a while since he was last this intimate with someone, his body was just reacting to feeling Sorata’s erection, or that he was just so tired he had let his guard down and gotten carried away—made that fact any less true.

Sorata pushed out his lower lip. “You’re just going to leave me like this?” He scooted down further on the bed and reached up, fingertips slowly sliding along Yokozawa’s thigh. “Even if I take full responsibility for what I did to _you_?” The grin he turned on Yokozawa was downright devilish as his fingers worked their way higher, close enough to Yokozawa’s cock that he could feel the heat pooled there, building, waiting.

“Not even then.” Yokozawa’s hand shot out, grabbing Sorata’s by the wrist and holding tight. “If your technique is anything like your kissing, you’re probably terrible at it anyway.”

“I am not!” Sorata snapped, trying to work his hand free from that strong grip. “I _am_ a guy, Yokozawa. If there’s one thing I know, it’s how to handle my own dick.”

At hearing the words that had come out of Sorata’s mouth, Yokozawa was momentarily rendered speechless. Apparently sexual frustration drew out the guy’s coarser side. And he realized that that in itself was also kind of attractive. Yokozawa liked a guy who could argue right back at him; it was part of why he had stuck with Masamune for so long.

“Good.” Yokozawa finally released Sorata’s wrist. “Then you can just handle it yourself.”

There was a pause, then a deep sigh of resignation from Sorata. “Fine.”

Yokozawa stood from the bed and turned back his sheets, fully intent on finally getting that sleep he so sorely needed—and ignoring that dull ache between his legs that said he was a fool for passing up such a promising opportunity. With some effort, he managed to silence the voice and slipped beneath the covers, reaching up to turn off the light before he got comfortable.

A long silence stretched between them as Yokozawa closed his eyes and let his body relax, already feeling better for having resisted the temptation that had been laid out before him. He could still hear Sorata moving around on the bed, but figured he’d leave soon and let him sleep in peace. After what had transpired between them tonight, Sorata owed him _that_ much at least.

At the sound of Sorata’s sigh, Yokozawa’s brows furrowed. When the sound repeated itself, shallower, quicker, followed by a soft whimper, his eyes opened, and he hesitantly turned toward Sorata, who had since repositioned himself and was lying with his head on the pillow next to Yokozawa’s. He didn’t even need to be able to see anything in the near-pitch black of the room to know that those little sighs spilling from Sorata’s lips were ones of pleasure.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Yokozawa pushed himself up on one elbow but held off on flipping on the light, not sure he wanted to see what would surely be illuminated.

There was a teasing tone to Sorata’s voice when he spoke. “Handling it, just like you told me.”

“I didn’t mean for you to do it in here!” Yokozawa groaned in frustration and ran a hand over his face.

Sorata glanced over at Yokozawa, able to see much better in the darkness even in his human form, and licked his lips. “But I was already here.”

“Fine. You know what? Just…do whatever the hell you want. I’m going to sleep.” And with that, he turned away from Sorata again, pulling the covers up to his ears and silently hoping sleep would claim him quickly. He didn’t want to think about what he had done or listen to the noises Sorata was making. He just wanted to sleep and forget all about the fact that he had just made out with a guy who used to be his cat. The mere notion even _sounded_ unreal.

Despite Yokozawa’s rather gruff tone, he hadn’t kicked Sorata out, which Sorata considered a victory on his part. Even though he hadn’t succeeded completely, he was going to fully win Yokozawa over if it was the last thing he did. He closed his eyes and palmed his cock through his pants, hips bucking at the touch. All that he knew of human sexuality was the few glimpses he had caught from Masamune and Yokozawa over the years, so there was a lot he didn’t know. That didn’t stop him from imagining it was Yokozawa’s hand on him, big and warm and firm and sure, knowing exactly how Sorata would want to be touched. His own hand was a rather poor replacement, but it sufficed for the moment.

This was something entirely new to Sorata, and he took his time learning the way this body responded to his touch. How the caress of fingers made him throb, the way the rough scrape of his underwear against the sensitive crown gave him shivers, and how a squeeze would make his cock jerk against his abdomen. Small sounds of pleasure began to fall from his lips, wrung unbidden from him the more he touched, soft at first, but growing louder as he finally found a good rhythm. Oh, there were most definitely perks to being human indeed.

Yokozawa was fairly sure he was dreaming. That was the only reason he could think of for why the sounds Sorata was making were having such an effect on him, why all he could see was Sorata, pants and underwear bunched around his knees, with his fingers curled around his cock, stroking slowly and unsteadily, making Yokozawa’s fingers itch to help guide him and coax more of those sexy little sounds from his lips. The mélange of sighs and whimpers and moans just cut right to his core, making his breath quicken, his heart race, and his cock throb. It wasn’t that he was _trying_ to listen to Sorata—in fact it was quite the opposite. Those sounds had just wormed their way into his head and resonated back and forth until they were all he could hear.

It had been at least ten minutes since he had lay down, every intention of just closing his eyes and sleeping till morning. He hadn’t expected to be lying just a few feet from Sorata, listening to the guy effectively jerking himself off—in Yokozawa’s own bed, no less. Yokozawa took a deep breath and let his hand slide down to the front of his pants, rubbed against the bulge there, and gave his cock a squeeze. Yeah, he was definitely going to have to do something about that.

His fate was sealed the moment he heard a breathy “Yokozawa…” fall from Sorata’s lips.

Yokozawa shivered as if the name had been whispered into his ear and turned over to face Sorata. Slowly, he opened his eyes, letting them adjust to the darkness of the room, and was finally able to make out Sorata’s form, saw the steady rise and fall of his chest, the quick up-and-down movement of his hand as he worked himself into a frenzy, and was surprised to note that the guy hadn’t even taken his pants off yet.

The last remaining threads of Yokozawa’s reason snapped as he slowly reached out, stilling Sorata’s hand with his own. Sorata jumped in response, gaze quickly turning toward him.

“…Yoko—?“

There was amusement in Yokozawa’s rough voice when he spoke. “If you’re going to tease, you’ve got to be prepared for the consequences.” He shifted closer, slanting his mouth over Sorata’s again, plundered his mouth with his tongue, and Sorata responded with almost desperate enthusiasm, clinging to Yokozawa’s shirt sleeve to keep him from breaking contact.

Yokozawa couldn’t help but realize this probably wasn’t going to take long at all. He set his fingers to work, popping the button on Sorata’s pants and tugging down the zip. It was kind of thrilling, he thought, to be touching someone new for the first time, to quite literally hold all Sorata’s pleasure in the palm of his hand let him know just how good Yokozawa could make him feel. With the pants unzipped, he let his fingers slip inside, ran them lightly over the swell of his cock, and squeezed. Sorata gave a yelp and his hips bucked. No, this _definitely_ wasn’t going to take long.

“Easy there…” Yokozawa admonished, giving a nip to Sorata’s lower lip. If he wanted to fully enjoy this—and he had to since there was no way he was going to let it happen again—he needed to distract Sorata from his own pleasure for a while and get him to reciprocate a little. With some effort, he pried Sorata’s hand from his shirt and directed it downward, pushed the sheets out of the way in the process, and pressed Sorata’s palm against the front of his pants. “I’m not doing this for free, you know.”

Sorata’s hand flinched at first as it came into contact with the unmistakable hardness of Yokozawa’s cock, but eventually began to explore, tracing the shape of him with curious fingertips, rubbing here, squeezing there. It was different from his own—the size, the shape, the thickness—but it responded to his touch just the same. The thought sent a thrill down his spine, and he touched with renewed fervor, turning onto his side in order to press closer.

Yokozawa hissed softly as Sorata’s touches grew bolder. The guy didn’t even have his hand inside his boxers yet, and Yokozawa was already worried he was going to come embarrassingly early. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had a hand on his cock that wasn’t his own, and it felt damn good. He moved his hand, slid it over Sorata’s hip and up his side, for the first time wishing they were both wearing much less clothing. Instead of remedying this, he simply leaned in for another kiss, distracting the both of them with the warm-wet press of lips and the well-timed swipe of a tongue.

It seemed that Sorata could only focus on one task at a time, and his hand stilled when Yokozawa kissed him. Now that he had gotten some practice, he seemed to really enjoy kissing, learning new techniques almost as fast as he was taught. And this went a long way toward making Yokozawa forget just how opposed he had been to the act at first. A small part of his mind probably still _was_ protesting, but Sorata’s breathy mewls had all but silenced it, giving him the last little push he needed to finally reach out, grip Sorata’s hips, and pull them flush against his.

Yokozawa swallowed down Sorata’s moan, ground their hips together, and lost himself for a few heady minutes, unable to think or feel anything beyond what he was touching, _who_ he was touching, how he was being touched in return. It was unthinkable that he could get so swept up by such awkward, inexperienced fingers, especially from someone he only barely tolerated, but the proof was undeniable, and he found himself intoxicated, drawn toward those hungry kisses, the unpracticed caresses, and he simply gave himself up to them.

When their hips met, Sorata moved his hands to grip Yokozawa’s arm, holding tight as they rocked together, and sending sparks of pleasure skittering up his spine. It was like nothing he had ever felt before, but everything he wanted to feel again and again. “Yokozawa… Yokozawa… Feels so good,” he breathed, voice edging into a moan and eyes closing.

He made a valiant effort to kiss Yokozawa again, sucking and tugging at his lower lip, breath shared between them and coming in soft puffs. He felt frantic, wild, as he moved against Yokozawa, hips finding their rhythm and gyrating faster, cocks rubbing and sliding against each other, hard and hot, and Sorata was almost dizzy with the knowledge that he was the one drawing soft groans and grunts of pleasure from Yokozawa’s lips. They were moving into dangerous territory, but neither one seemed inclined to put a stop to it.

“Sorata…” As the word left his mouth, Yokozawa was surprised by how husky his voice sounded to his own ears, how it seemed to nearly drip with need. Reluctantly, he tightened his grip on Sorata’s hips and pushed just enough to put some distance between them, clearing his throat before speaking again. “We need to stop.”

“What? No, don’t stop! Let’s keep going.” The look Sorata fixed him with was mixed frustration and confusion, and he tried to push forward again, regain the contact that had been lost.

“It’s just…” Yokozawa pushed on Sorata’s hips again, trying to still them, but had little success until he raised his voice. “ _Just…_ for a minute. Now quit moving.” Hooking his thumbs under the elastic of Sorata’s underwear, he roughly tugged both them and his pants down as much as he could.

It seemed this was exactly what Sorata had been waiting for, and he quickly lifted his hips, shimmied the rest of the way out of both pants and briefs, and without missing a beat, reached out to give Yokozawa’s pants the same treatment. “I was starting to think we were never going to get to this part,” he laughed, the sound rough and breathless.

Yokozawa told himself it was only because he was so startled by the very forward reaction that he didn’t push Sorata’s hands away. He wanted Sorata to touch him-- _oh_ did he ever want him to touch—he just wanted it to be on _his_ terms. “Don’t be so damn impatient.”

“Can’t help it,” Sorata replied, fingers curling around Yokozawa’s thick shaft once it was bared to him. It twitched in his grasp, and he grinned as if suddenly realizing the power he wielded here. “I really want to touch you.”

A gasp of pleasure was the only vocal response Sorata received, but Yokozawa put his hand to use as well, gripping Sorata’s cock and giving it a few slow tugs. God, but the guy was dripping wet already.

Sorata’s hips jerked, his grip on Yokozawa tightening momentarily, and he hissed, “Yesssss… Touch me too.” His hand began to move, stroking unsteadily, lacking any sort of rhythm.

If Sorata didn’t get the hang of this pretty soon, there was no way Yokozawa was going to be able to get off this way. His own hand was moving slowly over Sorata’s cock, fingers dragging through the pearls of liquid at the crown and smearing them down over his shaft to slick it. He covered Sorata’s hand with his own, helping guide his movements and instructing, “Steady… Up and down. Just like that.”

It wasn’t long before they both found their rhythms, hands stroking, hips rocking, exchanging wet, breathless kisses when the urge for more contact became positively unbearable. Pleasure built between them, their skin tingling, hypersensitive, pulses pounding as their hands moved faster, and the pitch of Sorata’s moans grew higher as everything built up and up and up.

Yokozawa knew Sorata wasn’t going to last, so it came as no surprise when Sorata suddenly gripped his arm, back arcing and hips jerking, a keening whine pulled from his lips as he spilled thick ribbons of cream over both the bed and Yokozawa’s hand. He continued to stroke Sorata through it until the last drops were spent and Sorata relaxed against the sheets with a shuddering sigh.

“Damn…” Sorata’s voice was amused, tired, but completely sated.

However, Yokozawa was feeling far from it, and he saw fit to give Sorata a stern reminder. “Oi, you’re still in the middle of something here.” He rocked his hips forward for effect.

It seemed to take Sorata a minute to register just what Yokozawa was talking about, but finally began to move his hand again, gradually resuming his previous pace. “Sorry.”

Having been so close before, Yokozawa knew it likely wouldn’t take much more to push him over the edge as well. Even in the low lighting, he could tell that Sorata was watching him now, much too closely for his liking, and he shut his eyes, focused on the slide of Sorata’s hand over his aching shaft, the heat pooling low in his abdomen. Within a matter of minutes, he had reached his limit and ground out a low, “Fuck!” as his release spurted over Sorata’s hand, seeming to catch him a little off guard.

He rolled onto his back, body boneless and heavy, breath shallow, and Sorata released him almost immediately. When he had recovered a little of his strength, he managed to turn onto his opposite side and grab a few tissues from the box on the nightstand and handed one to Sorata before wiping down his hand. “Here.”

“Thanks.” Sorata took the proffered tissue at length, voice soft and tinged with a sort of wonderment. “Na, Yokozawa…”

“Hm?”

Abruptly, Sorata turned over, scooting a bit closer to Yokozawa’s side, and rested a hand on his arm. “That was re—“

“ _Don’t_ even say it,” Yokozawa interrupted. Even though he had just been brought to quite a satisfying climax, he still wasn’t in the mood to hear some emotional critique on his performance. “I don’t wanna hear about your feelings.” He shifted, tucked himself back into his pants, and with some effort, managed to pull the covers back up over himself. His body was starting to remind him that it was even more tired now than it had been, and he couldn’t wait to fall asleep.

Sorata pouted at having been shot down, but decided to speak anyway. “Can I sleep here?”

“Suit yourself.” Yokozawa shrugged, not bothering to turn to face Sorata. Even through the heady pleasure from before, he had never entirely forgotten that he had been so averse to that very thing just an hour ago. But his subconscious had all night to sort that out, and that meant he had at least eight hours before he’d have to possibly consider thinking about how much he had actually _liked_ it.

He heard Sorata settle down next to him, close, but not uncomfortably so. Yokozawa didn’t often share his bed with anyone, but the feeling of a warm body occupying the same space, breathing softly and evenly, lulling him into slumber, was kind of nice. Maybe he could get used to it.

* * *

When Yokozawa next opened his eyes, shafts of sunlight were streaming in through the cracks between his blinds. It was later than he usually slept on Saturdays, but as his body was feeling particularly relaxed and well rested, he didn’t much mind. For a good ten minutes, he simply lay there, contemplating whether or not he even wanted to bother getting up when his bed was so comfortable.

It wasn’t until Sorata walked into the room, all smiles and cheerfulness and wet hair from his recent shower, that all the events of the previous night finally came crashing back down on him. On second thought, maybe he’d just pull the covers up over his head and go back to sleep again so he didn’t have to think about it.

“Oh, you’re finally awake!” Sorata watched him, head tilted as he tried to glean Yokozawa’s mood solely from the look he was being given. “Do you want your breakfast now?”

A sudden stab of panic shot through Yokozawa, and he replayed the question, hoping he had heard it wrong. “You don’t know how to cook.” Not that it wouldn’t have been nice to wake up to a hot meal already prepared for him.

Sorata waved a hand dismissively. “Oh no, I didn’t do any cooking. I bought you some bread from the conbini.”

“Thank god!” The relief Yokozawa felt must have been evident on his face because Sorata just chuckled and shook his head.

When he thought about it (and he tried his best _not_ to), this situation seemed almost eerily domestic, like he and Sorata were husband and wife. He had to physically shake the very thought from his mind. No matter _how_ much he would’ve liked to have someone prepare breakfast for him every day, it wasn't going to happen.

Sorata mistook the shake of Yokozawa’s head for his answer and nodded in acknowledgment. “Okay, well just let me know when you want it.” He approached the bed then, crawling up on it and flopping down next to Yokozawa, head resting on his arm, which he nuzzled briefly, an almost shy smile on his lips. “Na… That thing we did last night…do you think we could do it again tonight? I really liked it.”

Yokozawa’s hand paused in midair where it was about to ruffle Sorata’s hair and he groaned, covering his face instead. Wasn’t there some kind of saying about cats that would have come in handy before he let himself get carried away last night? Something about cats taking a mile when given an inch? No matter, he had already given in once and lived to tell about it. Perhaps it was time to simply roll with the punches and see where it took him. It wasn’t as though last night had been _terrible_ —far from it. Strangely enough, they seemed to work well together on some level.

But Yokozawa didn’t want to get Sorata’s hopes up—nor his own—so he answered with a noncommittal, “We’ll see,” and finally gave in to that temptation to ruffle Sorata’s hair. He had plenty of time to work out the details along the way. Cats _did_ have nine lives after all.


End file.
